I walk into my home office and it glares at me. Stopping in the doorway, I look at its poor scarred face and feel guilty.
The poor thing should have been retired years ago, but I can’t seem to let it go. It’s gray with age, has small snags and rips from the cat’s claws. It needs a good vacuuming also. So much hair on it, as the cats like to lay across its back and watch the birds out the window.
Its hydraulic lift doesn’t always work anymore either. Sometimes when I sit down it will slowly lower itself. I then have to get up and raise it higher. I mutter to it, but then feel guilty as I know it’s old and tired.
Even though it’s old, it is the most comfortable of chairs. My butt feels at home in it. I can sit for hours, and most days do, without discomfort.
I’ve tried to retire it a few times. I really had good intentions of doing so. I have bought shiny new office chairs to take its place. They are never the same though, they don’t have that softness for my butt that this one has. The backs are not high enough so I don’t feel drafts on my neck. They are usually just not up to my old one’s standards. So I give them away or put them someplace else and take my gray one out of retirement.
I know if it could talk it would beg me to retire it for good, but I can’t. I need it too much. I love it and it would break my heart to give it up. I do apologize to it every day. I pat it and say, “Sorry I can’t let you go. Maybe one day I can find and afford a younger one. But not today Mr. Chair, not today.”
I hear its heart-felt sigh as it slowly lowers when I sit down. I get up, give it a loving pat and raise it again. Swear to it that I will vacuum it soon and then sit down once again.
Every day we go through the same routine. I feel the same guilt. Then I sit down in it and feel the comfort of an old companion and whisper, ‘I love this chair’.
This post was done for the Daily Post, Wronged Objects prompt.